


Complex Inhibitions

by MerHums



Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - College/University, Anal Sex, Angst with a Happy Ending, Breaking Up & Making Up, Developing Relationship, Eating Disorder Not Otherwise Specified, Eating Disorders, First Time, Friends to Lovers, Happy Ending, Implied/Referenced Self-Harm, Kid Sherlock, Librarian Greg, Loss of Virginity, M/M, Mutual Pining, Oral Sex, Out Of Character Mycroft, Punk Greg, Recovery, Virgin Mycroft, Winglock, mention of parent death/minor character death
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-10-28
Updated: 2016-11-12
Packaged: 2018-08-27 14:25:44
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 6
Words: 13,955
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8405044
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/MerHums/pseuds/MerHums
Summary: Mycroft never lets anyone close, never lets his emotions or his wings free. What will it take to change that? Or better yet, who?





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> First, some general housekeeping. On the subject of wings; Wing!lock is a another AU, sometimes found within the Omegaverse AU. Depending on author's preference, wings can match up with personality, gender, second gender, hair color, the person's hair color, a soulmates wings, etc. In this verse, wings match up to hair color, and are large, like angel wings would be considered, though proportional to to body size. Our characters cannot fly though, and their wings are essentially useless. If you consider the wings to be a pretty, but pointless evolutional malfunction or leftover, then you’re on the right track.
> 
>  
> 
> On the subject of characterization, we realize that Mycroft is extremely out of character. He is intentionally written that way. One of the benefits of being a fanfiction writer is that you can take the characters you know and love, and then put them in different situations, just to see how they’ll react, or manipulate them to suit your needs. Also, the age difference between Sherlock and Mycroft has been increased. Instead of the generally used seven years apart, they are ten years apart. 
> 
>  
> 
> Next, warnings for the fic itself. Caution. This fic contains references to self-harm, bullying, stays in a recovery facility, struggles with eating disorder, and internalized self hatred. If you may be triggered by any of this material, the authors ask that you not proceed in reading. The authors would also like to point out that these topics are not meant to be romanticized in anyway, rather that they are used to show how characters may react in such cases.

Gregory Lestrade. Complex and completely uninhibited punk. It would likely say that on his gravestone, Mycroft mused, walking across the campus to class. The man in question was sitting just ahead, shirt off and wings in full display. Surrounded by both men and women in plentiful numbers, fawning over him. Irritatingly handsome and unfortunately kind, Greg had never said a cruel word to Mycroft. His entourage on the other hand was a different matter.

Mycroft sniffed and skirted around the group, only to freeze as someone called his name.  
"Oi! Holmes! You ever gonna show us your wings?"

Mycroft shook his head, walking on only to have someone grab his arm. "Come on Holmes, take off that jacket and let them breathe!"

"Let go," Mycroft hissed through clenched teeth, tugging his arm away.

"Aww you probably don't even have a pretty set do ya?" 

"Cretins," Mycroft muttered, walking faster, aware that Greg's gaze was on him. 

“Leave him alone,” said Greg, watching Mycroft. “I told you that.” God the redhead was gorgeous. And totally out of his league.

Mycroft spared Greg a glance at the helpful words, but only walked faster. Greg Lestrade would never want him, not as a "friend" or anything more. He was too hateful, too cold for anyone to ever want him. Too plain. Mycroft shook his head and entered class, prepared to dazzle. 

Greg walked into class a couple minutes late. The professor glared at him, but continued her lecture. Greg’s eyes wandered to Mycroft, sitting perfectly straight, barely taking no doubt perfect notes, the outline of his wings barely visible under his jacket. He wondered what they looked like, if they were red like his hair, or dark or light. That lead to another thought that had him quietly adjusting his tight jeans. His own wings were brown, but he’d dyed the tips blue. Mycroft answered a question and Greg repressed a shiver at the sound of his voice. It was wrong to want someone this much, especially when they had no interest at all.

Mycroft was more than aware of Greg's entrance to the room, and he stiffened almost unwillingly, not wanting to leave anything that would seem unappealing. He darted from class as soon as their time was up, escaping into the sanctity of his flat down the road. 

**

Mycroft froze as he heard his name once more, this time in the library cafe. He turned, facing down Greg with mask in place. "Yes?" 

 

Greg took a breath and smiled. “I was wondering if you could maybe help with some homework, since you’re brilliant.”

"I charge," Mycroft said quickly, almost immediately clearing his throat in a silent curse. "My time is quite in demand." A complete and utter lie, but anything to stay away. And yet. He couldn't bring himself to say no.

“That’s fine. I work a couple jobs. How much an hour?” He’d take a third job if it meant spending time with him. God, how could someone’s eyes be so blue?

"Fifteen pounds an hour," Mycroft replied, hoping it would be too high. Anything to save him from the warm brown light of Greg's eyes. 

He’d have to take that third job then. “That’s fine,” said Greg, never letting his smile falter. “When’s a good time?”

"Sundays at three?" Mycroft said in disbelief. "I'll give you my address." He mentally cursed himself for the idea, should have stuck with the library. 

“Okay. How many hours?”

"Depends on how much help you need," Mycroft said smoothly, quickly packing up his books. "I really must be going. I have a lecture to attend.”

“Course. See you Sunday.”

Mycroft made his escape, waiting until he was outside the library to resume breathing as he leaned against the wall. What was he thinking?

Greg sagged back in his seat and rubbed his temples. He’d have to tell the boys he wasn’t going to be available for as many gigs.

**

Mycroft hastily tugged a jacket on as the doorbell rang, walking over to let Greg in. "Hello," he said, brushing down his waist coat. "Come in." 

“Afternoon,” smiled Greg, feeling mildly disappointed by the suit jacket. “Thanks for seeing me.”

"It isn't any bother," Mycroft said stiffly, leading him into the small kitchen. "I had the spare slot." He sat down, and looked at Greg. "What class are you looking for assistance in?" 

“Right now it’s mostly chemistry,” he sighed, putting down his books. “I know it’s all logic and rules but it’s just not making sense to me.”

"Ah. Well that's not terrible then. Let's begin with creating a study sheet with all the rules." 

Greg nodded and opened his books, leaning in to listen to Mycroft, finding it easier to understand when he explained it.

Time went by quicker then he realized and before he knew it, three hours had passed. He pulled out his money and put it on the table. “Thank you. That helps a lot.” He looked at Mycroft, hesitating for a moment. “May I take you for out for dinner?”

"I don't think that would be wise," Mycroft said, swallowing hard. "I'm quite sure you don't wish to spend time with me, so whatever motives you have for asking me to dinner you may forget about them." 

Greg let the disappointment show on his face. “But I do want to spend time with you.” He sighed and shook his head. “I’m sorry, I know you’re way out of my league. Thank you for the help though.”

Mycroft blinked. "I...excuse me?" 

“I’d like to go out with you,” said Greg, gathering up his books, not looking at him. “And I know you’re way too good for me.”

"Why on earth would you be interested in me?" Mycroft sputtered.

Greg looked up at him. “Why wouldn’t I be? You’re brilliant and gorgeous.”

"I am completely common," Mycroft argued. "You're pulling some sort of trick. Leave!" 

Greg took a step back, shoulders and wings dropping. “I’m not,” he said quietly, gathering up his books and hurrying out. Such an idiot, a fool, a moron. He shouldn’t have even tried. He could have almost anyone he wanted, so why did he want the one he could never hope to have? Mycroft had caught his attention from the first time he saw him. Best to just see him in class then, chalk it up experience.

Mycroft sank into his chair, cursing himself. What had he been thinking? Allowing his emotions free rein. He shook his head, and sighed. Class would be intolerable. 

**

"Professor, I really do thank you for your time," Mycroft said and waved, backing out of the office and bumping into someone who smelt of sandalwood and sunshine. "Oh, apologies, I didn't-Gregory...." he breathed, heart suddenly pounding in his chest. 

“Mycroft. I...I hope you’re well,” said Greg, then kicked himself for even asking.

“I’m all right, yes. Yourself?” Mycroft asked.

“Fine. Busy.” He gave a bit of a smile. “I’m sure you’ve got important things to attend to.”

“Ye...yes, I was just finishing up a discussion with Professor Andrews.”

“What’s that?” Andrews asked, sticking his head out the door. “Oh hello, Greg. Ready?” 

“Yes, sir.” He gave Mycroft a nod and stepped into the office.

Mycroft frowned, realizing that by the sheaf of graded essays in his hand, Greg was concerned with his performance in the class. He shook his head and walked away.

**

Greg was tired, but he put on a smile as he adjusted his waiter's jacket. This restaurant was way out of his class, but knowing perfect French had got him the job. The jacket hid his wings and made him look almost respectable. Three jobs was really too much, with school, but he had to make money somehow. 

Mycroft nodded along as Mummy spoke, agreeing with her plans for the summer. “Mummy,” he said during a pause. “Are you ready to order?”

"Yes, I believe so." She snapped her fingers at the nearest waiter. 

Greg turned around only to see Mycroft. His stomach flopped but he kept his face neutral. "Madam, Sir."

Mycroft felt his stomach curdle. “Ah, we’d like to order please,” he said, but mummy was already rattling off their orders in unaccented, crystal clear French. He felt his face flame, and quickly turned for a sip of wine. 

"Oui," answered Greg with a smile, noticing Mycroft's embarrassment. He wondered if it was over seeing him or his mum. "I will have those out in a moment," he replied in equally perfect French. 

“Oh, Mycroft isn’t he such a lovely young thing?” Mummy said loudly as Greg walked away. Mycroft nodded, and drank the rest of his wine quickly, face going even redder. 

Greg attended his other tables and soon returned with their meals. "More wine?"

“Please,” Mycroft said quietly, refusing to meet his eyes. 

"Yes sir," Greg said, turning to fetch it. 

“Mycroft, why are you blushing?” Mummy asked. “Oh dear. Have you a little crush on the waiter?”

“Mummy!” Mycroft hissed. 

Greg was walking back with the wine when suddenly the maitre’d stepped in front of him in the middle of the restaurant, looking angry. 

“Lestrade, what have I told you?” he asked, glaring. 

"Many things, sir." Greg had a bad feeling about this. 

“I had a customer come up to me and show me this,” he said, holding out a blue tipped feather. “Didn’t I warn you? Any complaints about your unconventional attire and you are out. Gone. Fired,” he hissed. 

"It must have fallen loose. I can't help that. If you're firing me this wine needs to go to that table, table four needs to order, tables six and two are waiting for their food and eight is eating dessert."

“Your pay is being docked,” the maitre’d said, crossing his arms. “The entire night. And one more instance like this and you’re gone.” 

Greg was aware of Mycroft’s eyes on him. "Of course, sir."

“I’ll be watching you.” He walked away. Mycroft turned his head before Greg could see he’d been watching, but mummy spoke up anyway.

“What a horrid little man. We’ll have to tip our waiter properly to make up for it.” 

“I’ll take care of it mummy,” Mycroft replied, already intending to leave an extra forty five pounds on the table, if only to return Greg’s tutoring money.

"I apologize," said Greg, bringing them the wine, glancing down at Mycroft’s nearly full plate. "Did you need anything else?" 

“No thank you, darling. You just ignore that angry little man,” Mummy replied. “The food is lovely, as is your service. Go away now.” 

Greg nodded, glanced at Mycroft, and went to check his other tables, inwardly seething. 

Mycroft and Mummy finished up, and once Greg brought the check, Mycroft added a tip onto the check, as well as slipping the notes onto the table. He excused himself before Greg came back, waiting outside for mummy.


	2. Chapter 2

Two days later Greg was working his weekend shift at the bar when he saw Mycroft come into his bar with a boy he didn't recognize. It looked like a date and he inwardly groaned. So out of his league. 

Mycroft sat awkwardly at the table, listening to Mark drone on and on about his father’s importance and their yacht. The boy had a custom jacket on, his wings fluttering as he spoke. “I don’t believe this bar has table service,” he said, standing. “Allow me to fetch us drinks.”

“I’ll have a-”

“Yes, I know,” Mycroft said curtly, walking quickly to the bar, only to freeze as he saw Greg mixing a drink. “Oh for god's sake,” he hissed, and strode up, arms crossed. “A gin and tonic, dry, and a pint of cider, if you please,” he said, past above Greg’s shoulder. 

"Look, I'm not stalking you," said Greg. "I know you're too good for me. That's obvious. We just keep running into each other."

Mycroft sighed. “I do not have the mental fortitude to deal with this at the moment,” he said through his teeth. “I have this utterly ridiculous public school ponce attempting to seduce me using his father’s money and now you.” He shook his head.

"I'm just working. Here's your drinks."

“Thank you,” Mycroft said and took them, setting the money down on the bar. He walked back over to the table with a irritated look. 

Greg kept an eye on them as he worked. Not very much later he saw Mycroft throw his drink on the other boy. The other one sputtered and reached for him, but Greg hopped the bar in a hot second and got to the table. 

“If you ever attempt that again, you’ll find yourself without far more than your dignity,” Mycroft hissed, setting the glass down. 

“Excuse me. Apologies for the mess,” he muttered, refusing to look at Greg as he grabbed his coat and walked out. 

Greg watched him go, making sure the other one didn't leave until Mycroft would have been well away. 

**

Two days after that Greg was doing a morning shift at the library before classes began. He wore a vest that kept his wings tucked, but blue tipped feathers peeked out the bottom. He felt one of the little ones tug a feather free to look at it. 

"Sherlock! You can't just...oh god." Mycroft flushed again, tugging his brother away. "I really don't believe this." 

Greg laughed. "This is getting ridiculous."

"I'm sorry," Mycroft said. "I'll leave," he said. "Come on, Sherlock."

"We are certainly not leaving," Sherlock snapped. "I need more data." He pulled away and ran off, leaving Mycroft on his own with Greg.

"Oh. " Mycroft cleared his throat. "Ah...I suppose I should thank you for intervening at the bar though, I did have it in hand."

"I figured he'd deserved it. For the record, I don't have any other jobs."

"Just the...three then?" Mycroft asked, quickly calculating Greg's expenses.

"Yeah. And school." He rubbed the back of his head. "And sometimes gigs."

"You're rather busy," Mycroft said.

"Well, obviously. It's no wonder he's so concerned about his class performance and is still single," Sherlock said, walking up with his pockets full of feathers. "We can go now." 

"And you must be Mycroft's little brother."

"Obviously. And you wish to sleep with him as he does you, so I don't see why we're speaking. Shouldn't you two be off shagging in the stacks?" Sherlock sniffed.

"Sherlock!" Mycroft hissed, going beet red. "Enough. We are leaving!" 

"Well he's not wrong. About me anyway. Your brother has already made it clear he isn't interested in me, Sherlock."

"Only because you have the reputation of a-"

"Sherlock!"

"And he's terrified you'll sleep with him and then leave and never speak to him again. Or worse, that you'll get a glimpse of him nude and run, which of course I wouldn't blame you for, I've seen things."

Mycroft bolted, heading straight for the reference section to hide himself away.

Sherlock smirked up at Greg. "Give me another one of your feathers. I need a control group." 

Greg pulled one free, handed it to him, and went after Mycroft. 

Mycroft groaned as he recognized Greg's footsteps. "Please, I believe I've been humiliated quite enough today," he said icily. "Do leave me be." 

“All I want is a chance,” said Greg from the other side of the shelf. “Like I said, I know I’m not good enough for you. I’m definitely not what your parents have in mind. I… never mind,” he said quietly, turning away. “I’m sorry.”

"Damn my parents!" Mycroft said, giving up and allowing his emotions to run rampant. "And damn you for saying that you're not good enough for me! You know nothing about me, and I...I know everything there is about you!" Mycroft huffed and then finally allowed himself to look, to truly see and deduce Greg. "You work three jobs, you have tattoos and piercings, one younger sister, one older, you dyed your wings because you wanted something more than brown even though you're fond of them. You're worried about your grades and your band because you can't contribute the time to them due to work. You enjoy cider and dark lager but not light. Your shoes were a present from your uncle, the pocket watch your grandmother, incidentally the same woman who taught you French. And if you asked, I could tell you every clue that allowed me to see these things about you. Because I can see, but the one thing I can't find is your desire to be as unkind to me as everyone else, and I will admit that that terrifies me, because if I cannot see it, and you are hiding it, then what else could you hide?” Mycroft balled his fists together, chest heaving after his tirade. "So tell me Gregory, what you want, before I figure it out and decide for myself how to rid myself of you before. You. Hurt. Me," Mycroft spat. 

Greg stared at him, surprised, folding his wings tighter to his body under the onslaught of words. “I don’t want to hurt you,” he said, meeting his eyes. “I never have. And I don’t know who hurt you so badly that you can’t imagine someone wanting to treat you right but I’d like to kick their ass.”

"Just leave me be," Mycroft said weakly, pulling his wings tight under his jacket and wrapping his arms around himself. "You can't fix this." 

“I just want a chance,” he said again, then looked away. “Just forget it.” He turned to go back to work.

"Gregory," Mycroft called quietly. "I...have a lovely day." He walked away, cursing himself once more. 

**

Greg busied himself all the more. He dropped the band all together, apologizing for his lack of time and wishing them luck. He kept up his jobs, focused more time on school and somehow managed to improve his chemistry grade. It was almost summer now and he’d be picking up more hours once school was over. Meantime he was studying for finals and avoiding Mycroft Holmes as much as possible, given the previous conversations. Clearly no matter how much the universe seemed to want them together, it was far too much for the other young man. So Greg sat in the back of the one class they shared and avoided him the rest of the time.

Mycroft couldn't help but realize how completely he'd ruined things with Greg. How appealing the other boy was, and how utterly gone he was on him, potential for hurt be damned. He had to fix it before the summer break, and steeling himself, he returned to the library, walking into the children's section. 

"Excuse me? I was hoping...hoping you might help me find a book." 

Greg was surprised to hear his voice. God, he was still gorgeous. But he could keep things professional. “What are you looking for?”

“Three books actually,” Mycroft said. “The first, how to apologize. The second, how to explain a story. And the third...how to make a friend. I’m not sure if you have them, but if you don’t, perhaps the lessons they teach could be learned elsewhere?” 

Greg studied him. “You don’t have to apologize. I was wrong to pursue you.”

“And the other two?” Mycroft asked, glancing at his clasped hands. 

“Well I’m pretty sure I’ve got a book or two on making friends,” Greg said with a sad smile.

“And explaining a story?” Mycroft asked. “Though it may take me some time to get through that one.” 

“That one is a little tougher. What do you want, Mycroft? I’ve tried to do what you asked.”

“I believe I was a bit hasty,” Mycroft replied. “So perhaps... lunch? My treat.” 

“All right. I get off at two.”

“Shall I pick you up?” 

“Okay. But nowhere fancy if I won’t have time to change.” Greg gave him a soft smile. “Thank you.”

“Thank you for the second chance,” Mycroft replied, and left, a sudden spring in his step, as he found himself hopeful.

Greg got back to work, but he was nervous, starting to wonder if Mycroft really meant to give him this second chance.

**

Mycroft returned at two on the dot, waiting for Greg to come out to the car. 

Greg ruffled his wings in the fresh air as he stepped outside, but quickly folded them back as he saw Mycroft. “Hello.”

“Hello,” Mycroft replied. “Do you have everything you need?” 

“Yeah. My bike’s here, but you can just drop me off when we’re done.”

“Very well.” 

Greg quietly got in the car with him, noticing the easy luxury. He kept his wings close and his hands folded in his lap. As usual Mycroft wore a suit jacket; Greg had still never seen his wings.

Mycroft noticed Greg staring at his wings, and he pulled them in close, even though he knew they couldn’t be seen. 

Biting his lip, Greg looked away, out the window, uncertain what he should even say.

“It isn’t as bad as you think,” Mycroft said quietly. “Please, don’t...don’t attempt to pity me.” 

“Why would I pity you?” asked Greg, looking back at him.

“You think that because I don’t show my wings, that something terrible must have happened to me. That because I don’t...trust that something terrible has happened. It hasn’t,” Mycroft said. “Not in the way you seem to be expecting.” 

“I don’t know anything about you. You seem to know everything about me.” Greg looked out the window again.

“Not by choice. I just...can see it,” Mycroft said, struggling to explain. He sighed. “I’m very fond of caramel and sea salt hot chocolate. I like to read Kerouac. I’ve only a year left before I have my degree in governmental science. I live alone. I do not have a favourite color. What more?” 

“I don’t know,” sighed Greg. “I’ve been pining after you all year. But after you told me no, I’ve been trying so hard to forget you, but I can’t.”

“And I cannot forget you either.” 

Greg looked at him. Cautiously he reached over and touched his hand. “I know what my reputation is. And you don't have to date me if you don't want to.”

"But I do," Mycroft said, and shifted the car into park. "We're here."

Greg got out and got the restaurant door for him, following him inside. 

Mycroft sat awkwardly across from Greg and glanced at the menu before smiling hesitantly at him. "I was thinking that perhaps you could ask me what you wish to know about me." 

"Hmm. Why government?"

"I am good at problem solving."

“Well there are plenty of those.” Greg put down his menu as the waiter appeared and ordered. “Do you know why I work all those jobs?”

“You’re supporting yourself in school, and sending any extra home to your family. Something to do with your younger sister and your father, but I’m not sure as you don’t visit often.” Mycroft hesitated. “I could assume but...I try to allow some stories to be told by their owners.” 

Greg fiddled with his glass. “Car accident last summer. My father was killed, my younger sister was badly hurt. I’m helping pay bills.”

“I’m sorry,” Mycroft replied. “I know it doesn’t mean much.” 

Greg shrugged. “It is what it is. I dropped the band, I don’t have time. Might pick it up again over the summer, but I need to pass my classes.”

“You’ve stopped playing your music?” Mycroft asked incredulously. “I didn’t see….” 

“I play sometimes at home, but I’m not performing.”

“Then you’re to take performances back up. I will ensure you pass your classes.” 

Greg shrugged. “It doesn’t matter that much. I was never going to be a rock star.”

“But you enjoy it,” Mycroft replied. “It’s the one thing that makes you happy because you’ve chosen to do it, not been forced into it.” 

Greg smiled. “Thanks.”

“Will Sunday’s at three still work for you? Or would you prefer another time?” Mycroft sighed at the confused look on Greg’s face. “To tutor you.”

“Oh. Yeah, that’s fine. I’ll just juggle my schedules.” 

Mycroft sighed again. “When is the best time for you, Gregory?” 

“Sunday morning? Unless you attend services.”

“No,” Mycroft replied as the waiter reappeared with their meals. “Sunday morning is fine.” 

“Okay. Nine?”

“Very well,” Mycroft replied.

The rest of the meal went quickly, and soon Mycroft was dropping Greg off at the library once more. He hesitated, and rolled down the window. “I will see you this Sunday, then?” 

“Yep. See you Sunday.”

“Goodbye, Gregory.”


	3. Chapter 3

  
On Sunday, Mycroft woke to the doorbell. He glanced at the clock and swore, jumping from the bed and dressing, throwing on a jacket and going to answer. “Come in,” he said to Greg. “Sit, I’ll be right back.” He ducked away, frazzled, and locked himself in the bathroom.

  
Greg realized he must have woken Mycroft, while he tucked himself away, leaving Greg with only the smallest, delightful, glimpse of a morning-mussed Mycroft, he went to the kitchen, rustled in the fridge, and started fixing them breakfast.

  
Mycroft came back out about ten minutes later, standing in shock at the sight of Greg fixing him breakfast. “You’re cooking….” he said, blinking.

  
"Well I figured you hadn't eaten."

  
“No, I overslept,” Mycroft admitted, walking into the kitchen and fixing two mugs of coffee. “I drove back from home last night, after resolving a….family crisis.” The sight of Greg cooking in his kitchen, the easy familiarity with which he sussed out the locations of the utensils and plates, was giving him shivers.

  
"Is everything okay?"

  
“It’s nothing...well, it’s a bit more than nothing.” Mycroft sighed and sat at the table. “My brother is….gifted. Unfortunately, his gifts also include pyrotechnics. He set fire to his school’s chapel. Again.”

  
"Oh dear. He seems like a handful."

  
“More than. And it’s made worse by the fact that his wings are larger than he is, you saw. So he’s terribly clumsy and most of the mistakes he makes are simply because he falls over.”

  
"I did notice his wings are big for his age."

  
“Runs in the family,” Mycroft said, glancing away. “So he struggles. In addition, he really doesn’t know how to...well to be frank, he never knows when to shut up. As you also saw in the library.”

  
"Whereas you've gone the opposite way."

  
“The opposite way?” Mycroft asked with a sinking feeling.

  
"You're very quiet. Unless you have a reason to speak."

  
“Oh,” Mycroft replied. “Yes, I suppose so. I...my...I wasn’t received well in primary school. I learned quickly it was better to keep to myself.”

  
"Kids can be bastards," said Greg, setting his plate in front of him.

  
"Yes." Mycroft smiled. "Thank you."

  
"You're welcome." He collected his own plate and sat across from him.

  
"You've been taught to cook," Mycroft said. "You really didn't need to," he said, looking down at his pancakes. "I usually just have porridge or yogurt."

  
"I really don't mind."

  
"Yes, but I don't need...." Mycroft sighed. "Thank you, Gregory. This is very nice."

  
"Don't like pancakes?" asked Greg, feeling a little concerned.

  
“No, no, I do,” Mycroft hastened to say. “I just generally don’t eat something with so many calories,” he replied hesitantly. “I don’t need them.”

  
Greg frowned. “You’re thin.”

  
"Not really," Mycroft replied self consciously. "And I certainly haven't always been this...weight."

  
“Are you taking care of yourself?”

  
"What?" Mycroft asked. "Yes, of course. I have a special meal plan that I follow if you're concerned."

  
“How many calories are you eating a day?”

  
"About a thousand," Mycroft replied. "Really, it's fine."

  
Greg raised an eyebrow. “It’s really not.”

  
"I'm fine," Mycroft said, swallowing hard. "I...when I was younger, I may have had..issues, but we've agreed upon a thousand and that's what I eat. As long as I eat that, I don't have to go back to-" he cut himself off. "I'm fine. Thank you for your concern and the pancakes. They're lovely."

  
Greg still had a worried look on his face. “Who agreed on a thousand?"

  
"My doctors and I," Mycroft said, looking down at his plate and pushing his fork around.

  
Greg sighed, not believing him. “If you’re not up for tutoring after the night you had I’ll understand. We could just spend time together.” He offered Mycroft a bite from his fork.

  
Mycroft blushed. "No thank you," he said, looking at the fork. "But I do want to help you. I know you're worried about passing."

  
Greg finished off his plate and carried it to the sink, that worry still in the back of his mind. “And I appreciate it,” he said instead.

  
"What would you like to start with?" Mycroft asked, eating a few bites more and then bringing his plate over to the sink.

  
“Maybe you could read over this essay?”

  
"Yes, of course. This is for Lit 432?"

  
“Yeah. I’ll get it out of my bag.”

  
Mycroft nodded, refusing to appreciate the view as Greg bent down to his bag and took the offered essay. He stood, walking away and coming back with a red pen, marking a few spots as he read.

  
Greg got up as he read, washing up the dishes and wondering about how little food there was in the house.

  
"I've finished," Mycroft said, looking up at him. "You're quite the writer, especially concerning zombies in film."

  
Greg chuckled. “I’m passable, I think.”

"Just a few grammatical errors," Mycroft replied. "A paper worth an A."

  
“Well thank you for reading it over.”

  
"Yes. What's next?"

  
“I’m not sure. This is what I’ve got.” Greg bent to pull out his books.

  
Mycroft glanced over again, then jerked and hit his knee on the table as Greg turned and caught him looking at his arse.

  
Greg chuckled. "It's okay." He ruffled his feathers.

  
"Immediate reaction," Mycroft said, flushing. "My attentions are generally not well received."

  
"I really don't mind."

  
"Yes, well," Mycroft coughed. "In any case, which textbook is next?"

  
"Pick one." He set them down.

  
"Chemistry? The exam is coming up next," Mycroft said.

  
"Okay."

  
They settled back down to study, Mycroft occasionally leaning in close as he explained something, each movement sending a jolt deep in his belly as he inhaled Greg's cologne. Briefly, he wondered if he would be able to identify it, if only to have a bottle on hand for himself.

  
"Now, the location in the electron cloud determines-" Mycroft paused, catching Greg looking at him instead of the book. "Whatever question you wish to ask, you should just ask."

  
"Just like looking at you. I should probably use the loo though."

  
"First on the right," Mycroft said, inwardly cursing as he felt his face heat with another blush.

  
Greg nodded and went to use it. Glancing at the counter he saw vitamins and a couple other medicines that did nothing to lessen his worry about the other man's health.

  
Mycroft waited, but as Greg stepped out with a strange look on his face, he remembered the bottles lined up on the counter, a sudden knot forming in his stomach.

  
Greg walked over to him. "I hope you know I think you're beautiful."

  
Mycroft opened his mouth to reply, but couldn't get the words to form. He looked away, tears in the corner of his eyes as he fought desperately to hold onto the ice he'd taught himself to wear.

  
Greg reached out and squeezed his shoulder. "I do."

  
"Please...." Mycroft whispered, the only word he was able to say.

  
"May I kiss you?"

  
"No..." Mycroft said, still looking away, staring at the ground. "No...one ever wanted to before. I'm not..."

  
"You're worthy of love, Mycroft. But I'll never force you into anything." He sighed and moved to sit, heart aching and wings rustling.

  
Mycroft stood. "I'll just be a moment," he said quietly, and fled to his bedroom. He pushed the door nearly closed, stripping his jacket off with shaking hands and stared in the mirror. His wings fluttered weakly behind him, feathers still dull, and partially shredded. He swallowed hard at the sight of new feathers, downy and bright and closed his eyes, tipping his head back down.

  
Greg waited a few minutes then got up and knocked on the door. "Mycroft?" He asked, finding the door ajar.

  
"Yes?" Mycroft asked, hurriedly turning and slinging his jacket over his shoulders. "Come in. I was just..."

  
Greg caught a glimpse of shredded feathers. Wordlessly, he moved to him and lifted the jacket. Mycroft’s wingspan was large for his frame and the remaining wings were dull. The new ones were coming in red and gold. Automatically he ran fingers through to carefully preen him.

  
Mycroft's breath caught, and he froze as Greg advanced on him, waiting for something, a cruel remark or laughter. What he didn't expect was Greg to lift the jacket, and run his fingers gently through his feathers. His knees went weak, and he caught himself on the wall, staring at Greg in the mirror as his hands worked.

  
Greg didn’t ask what had happened. It looked like it was mostly self-inflicted anyway. He preened his feathers from one side to the other, working diligently and carefully, spreading the wing oil, bringing a bit of a shine to the older feathers. Mycroft made no move to stop him and for that he was grateful. But no wonder he hid his wings. Damage like this took a long time to heal.

  
Mycroft swallowed hard as his body reacted to the caring hands on his wings, even the shame he felt not enough to quell his desire.

  
Greg noticed his reaction in the mirror, was having a similar reaction himself. He caught Mycroft’s eyes in the glass. “You’re beautiful.” He repeated.

  
Mycroft felt a shiver run over him at Greg's words, and he sagged just slightly into his arms.

Hoping he wasn’t overstepping bounds, Greg wrapped one arm around his waist, holding him as he got the last few feathers.

  
Mycroft couldn't help the moan that escaped him at even that simple touch. He immediately stiffened with embarrassment, body red. "I..."

  
“It’s okay.” Greg said to him, watching him the mirror.

  
"Why aren't you laughing?" Mycroft whispered.

  
“I told you, you’re beautiful. Why would I laugh?”

  
"My wings aren't," Mycroft replied. "I've ruined them."

  
“They’re growing back. And they’re a part of you, therefore they’re beautiful.”

  
"I am...trying," Mycroft said, hands trembling. "But I...it..." He fell silent, taking shallow breaths, still trying not to cry.

  
“It’s okay,” said Greg again, stroking his wing, watching him.

  
"You still need to study," Mycroft whispered, hands migrating to the strong arm around his waist.

  
“I have time. You’re important too.”

  
"But I said I'd help you..." Mycroft said quietly. "It's what I'm good at. Solving problems. Let me solve your problem."

  
“May I help you with yours as well?”

  
"They've tried," Mycroft said, voice hoarse with repressed emotions.

  
“I’m sure. But that doesn’t mean you’re without hope.” Greg moved his hand slowly, still watching him in the mirror.

  
"But it has to come from me," Mycroft murmured, eyes bitter and ashamed. "And how can I believe it when the whole world tells me I'm worthless and ugly and ruined?"

  
“I’ve never told you that. So that’s at least one person who believes in you.”

  
"And I still don't understand why you haven't."

  
“I told you the first time. You’re brilliant and you’re beautiful.”

  
"And that doesn't mean I'm not broken," Mycroft replied, but cautiously leaned his head down, looking at his hand on Greg's arm and moved it in a gentle stroke. "You have to believe that I am trying."

  
“I do believe you,” promised Greg.

  
"I don't let people close anymore," Mycroft said, still clutching Greg's arm. "I don't have friends or relationships. I am so...." He trailed off, looking in the mirror again.

  
“You’re tired. You hurt. You don’t know how to let someone in,” said Greg softly. “I...I’d like to try and be that man for you.”

  
"Lonely. I'm tired of locking everyone out," Mycroft said, closing his eyes.

  
Boldly, Greg pulled him a little closer and kissed his cheek. His heart ached for Mycroft and he knew the pining had turned into something else. He wanted to help Mycroft, not out of pity, but out of a desire to see him fly the way he should.

  
Mycroft's eyes flew open at the kiss and he held Greg tighter. "I've never..."

  
“I know,” said Greg softly, still watching him in the mirror.

  
"Will you be patient?"

  
“Haven’t I shown you that already?”

  
"Yes," Mycroft admitted. "You have."

  
“Like I said, I’ll take things as slow as you need. What do you want right now?”

  
"I would very much like it if you kissed me," Mycroft said. "Properly."

  
Greg shifted Mycroft and turned him from the mirror. He cupped Mycroft’s cheek and curled his wings around them as he leaned in to kiss him.

  
Mycroft closed his eyes at the first gentle touch of their lips, feeling safe within Greg's wings. "Oh..." he breathed as they parted, eyes flickering open. "Oh."

  
Greg smiled warmly at him. “Good?”

  
"Unexpectedly," Mycroft replied. "Can we again?"

  
Nodding, Greg leaned in and kissed him again, this time running his tongue along Mycroft’s lips.

  
Mycroft opened to him and lifted his hands to rest them on Greg's waist, stepping closer. He let out a small gasp as their covered cocks brushed together, and tightened his grip.

  
This time it was Greg who let out a small groan. “God, Mycroft, I’d like to do so much with you.”

  
Mycroft shivered at the desire in Greg's voice. "Tell me..." He murmured.

  
“I’d like to lay you down. Or press you against the wall. I want to feel your cock against mine. I want to cover you with my wings. I want to take you apart with my hands and my mouth and my cock. I went to fall down on my knees and worship you…”

  
Mycroft's breath stuttered and he fought the urge to run, the urge to back away before Greg saw him and changed his mind, because the utter want in Greg's voice was drowning him.

  
Greg turned him again so Mycroft's back was to the mirror, diving in to kiss him again, trying not to trap him, but rather failing under the heady desire.

  
“Gregory,” Mycroft said, fighting not to whimper under his lips. “Please,” he asked, not knowing what it was he was asking. “Please.”

  
Shifting, Greg slid a leg between Mycroft's thighs. "Rut against me."

  
Mycroft obeyed, hesitantly rubbing against Greg’s thigh, pressing his face to the crook of Greg’s neck and holding him tight.

  
Groaning, Greg breathed against him. "Yeah. God, you feel so good."

  
Mycroft clutched him tighter. “Gregory,” he repeated, hips rocking. “I...I.”

  
"I have you."

  
"I'll come if this continues," Mycroft managed to gasp.

  
"That's the goal," growled Greg.

  
"But I'm dressed!" Mycroft protested, then gave a low moan.

  
"Do you want me to stroke you off instead?"

  
Mycroft stiffened, shaking his head quickly. "N..no. This is quite-mmmf-fine," he said, gasping as Greg rocked his hips up.

  
"You're gorgeous," said Greg again, nipping at his throat.

  
"I...I..."

  
“Come, Mycroft,” he growled.

  
Mycroft came, body going stiff with a silent cry. He grasped Greg tightly, knees weak with pleasure, burying his face in the man's arms.

  
Greg held him up, his own cock still achingly hard, but loving the feel of the man in his arms.

  
"Sorry," Mycroft panted, standing straight, face a brilliant red. He stood still, awkwardly realizing the fronts of his trousers had a large wet spot forming, and that Greg’s were still tented. He glanced back down at his feet with embarrassment.

  
“Why apologize? I do believe I started that.” He reached down and dragged his hand through the growing wet spot, bringing his fingers to his lips.

  
Mycroft bit back another moan, stumbling back to support himself on the wall. “You didn’t…”

  
“Do you want to touch me, or should I go use your bathroom?”

  
"I...I don't know," Mycroft admitted, pulling his wings around himself.

  
"Can I stroke myself off here?"

  
Mycroft swallowed. "In front of me?" He immediately blushed. "I suppose that was obvious," he said, mouth dry at the thought. "Yes....please."

  
Smiling, Greg backed up and sat on his bed, letting his wings relax as he unzipped his jeans. He licked his lips as he freed his cock.

  
Mycroft stayed against the wall, unsure if he should move closer, just watching as Greg freed his cock. He licked his lips, mirroring the other man, stomach tightening with desire.

  
"You can come closer if you want. I'd love to taste you." Greg's voice was husky.

  
Mycroft stepped closer, hesitantly sitting on the edge of bed. He shied as Greg reached out, shaking his head. "I just want to watch."

  
"Okay." Greg took himself in hand, eyes falling shut.

  
"You are a beautiful man," Mycroft murmured, carefully reaching out to run his hands through Greg's wings.

  
Greg smiled. "Feels good."

  
“I cannot fathom why you chose me,” Mycroft said, watching the steady glide of his hand. “But...I’m glad.”

  
"The pleasure is mine, believe me."

  
Mycroft shifted closer, slightly uncomfortable in his wet trousers, kneeling behind Greg. “Can I just…” he asked, setting his chin on Greg’s shoulder and bringing his arms around him. “Is this all right?”

  
"Yeah. More than fine."

  
Mycroft let out the nervous breath he was holding and watched as Greg’s sped up his pace. “You’re close,” he observed. “Your heart is beating so fast.”

  
"Yeah. Kiss me?"

  
Mycroft turned his head, aiming for Greg’s lips but catching the corner of his mouth.

  
Moaning, Greg found his lips and came over his hand.

  
Mycroft gasped, arms tightening before he pulled away. “I’ll get you a flannel.”

  
"Okay. Thank you."

  
Mycroft got off the bed, going to a cupboard in the corner and pulling one out, handing it to Greg. “Ah...would you like to use the restroom first?” he asked, unwilling to undress with Greg in the room, but desperate to change his clothes.

  
"I can do that. Thanks."

  
Mycroft waited for Greg to leave before quickly gathering a new set of clothes and collapsing on the edge of the bed, waiting for his turn.

  
Greg came out a few minutes later and smiled at him. "Thank you."

  
Mycroft nodded, avoiding his gaze as he stood, ducking out of the room.

  
Greg tidied the room as he waited, then went to fix them some lunch.

  
Mycroft came out, redressed and still attempting to regain his composure. He glanced in the bedroom, but found Greg in the kitchen. “You’re cooking again?” he said, a sinking feeling in his stomach at the thought.

  
"Just something small. Promise."

  
Mycroft nodded. “All right.” He sat down at the table and pulled the textbook back to him, writing out a study guide for Greg while the other man hummed at the counter. The easy domesticity was startling, but Mycroft found himself relaxing into it.

  
He blinked as Greg set a plate down in front of him. “ A vegetable sandwich? No dressing, extra tomato. How did you know?”

  
“Stab in the dark,” he smiled. “And my elder sister had some similar issues.”

  
“Oh,” Mycroft replied, and smiled hesitantly up at him. “Thank you, Gregory.”

  
“You’re welcome.”

  
An hour later, Mycroft was surprised to find he'd eaten the entire sandwich, without a single pause to consider the calories it might contain.


	4. Chapter 4

"Holmes! Holmes! Dammit man, wait up." The man jogging up grabbed Mycroft's arm, thrusting a note at him. "Lestrade asked me to give this to you, but you left lecture so fast I didn't get a chance."

Mycroft took it and unfolded it. 

Just wanted to remind you that you're beautiful. I have a gig tonight. Alexander's on Tottenham CT, 9pm. Hope to see you there.

Mycroft blinked, trying not to blush or grin, but the other man had left already, and so he allowed himself a quiet smile.

**

Mycroft stepped into the bar, self conscious in his trousers and button down. He got a drink at the bar and then made his way to the stage, tucking himself in a corner table to wait for Greg to go on. 

Greg grinned as he saw Mycroft had come. He'd dyed the tips of his hair the same color as the tips of his wings (and it was supposed to wash out before his next waiter shift). Holding his bass he gleefully gave himself to the performance. 

After Greg had finished prancing about the stage, Mycroft slipped into the back hallway, locating him nervously with the other members of the band. "Hello, Gregory."

"Gregory?" One of the others said with a laugh. "Thought only your mum called you that, Greg. Who's this?"

Mycroft tightened his grip on his umbrella, and ducked his head. He'd embarrassed Greg. He shouldn't have come. He looked to Greg and gestured that he'd step away and call him later. 

"Oi! This is Mycroft." Greg put an arm and a wing around him. 

"Oh, you're the fucker he's been mooning after for the past year?" 

Mycroft did blush then, tucking himself closer to Greg.

"Well, can you blame him?" The singer said, finally looking up with a wink. "Gorgeous. Love a redhead." 

"You were quite good," Mycroft said, rallying. 

“Thanks,” said one. 

Greg wrapped his wing a little tighter around him. “We’re taking off. See you guys later.”

"Where are we off too?"

“Could go to my place or yours? I’ve got my bike.”

"I took the tube. I will go wherever you wish." 

“You can come back to mine. Come on, Colin will bring my bass by tomorrow.”

"Very well," Mycroft said and followed Greg out, reaching for his his hand hesitatingly. 

Greg smiled warmly and took it, leading him to his motorcycle. He took out the extra helmet and handed it to him. “Hold on tight to me.”

Mycroft strapped the helmet on, and straddled the bike, wrapping his arms around Greg's waist to avoid his wings. "You will be cautious, won't you?" 

“I will, I promise. Precious cargo on board, after all."

Mycroft couldn't help but smile as Greg kicked off, zooming through the streets. 

Greg paid attention as he drove, more so than usual. It didn’t take too long before they pulled up at his block of flats. He parked the bike and got off after Mycroft, aware the place was a bit run down, but at least it was his.

Mycroft followed Greg up the stairs, and stepped in as he unlocked the door, glancing around. "This is nice." The apartment was small, the furniture worn but comfortable, the decorations spare but obviously Greg's. "No roommate?"

"Naw. Just me." He shrugged off his coat. "Want something to drink?"

"Water would be fine," Mycroft said. "May I sit?"

"Make yourself at home." Greg went to fetch two waters. "Thank you for coming."

"I was glad to," Mycroft replied as Greg sat beside him. He smiled and unbuttoned his jacket. 

"Did you enjoy yourself?" Greg stretched his wings and yawned. 

"Yes. You're quite good. But trained acoustically, am I not correct?" 

"Yeah. I can't read music."

"Impressive," Mycroft replied. 

"It's something. Do you want to take off your jacket?"

"Just us here, correct?" Mycroft asked, fiddling with his hem. 

"I live alone. Feel free to investigate if it'll make you feel better."

"No, I trust you," Mycroft replied. "Forgive me for asking again, I just...had to be sure." He looked away, carefully sliding his jacket away and freeing his wings. 

"I know. And it's fine, beautiful."

Mycroft sighed. "I enjoy hearing you say that," he said quietly, and shifted a bit closer. 

“I’m glad.” Greg leaned in and kissed him gently before taking the closest wing in hand and beginning to preen. “And it’s true.”

"I'm trying," Mycroft said, in an echo of their first talk.  "But it's hard..." He sighed. "Gregory?" 

“Yes, love?”

"Will you turn around? I'd like to preen your wings." 

Greg grinned. “You’ll put me to sleep, but I’d like that.” He shifted on the sofa.

"To sleep? Why?" Mycroft asked, stroking his fingers through and plucking a few loose feathers away. 

“It just relaxes me."

"That makes sense," Mycroft said. "Brings you comfort." He kept stroking, working the oil through Greg's feathers, until both his wings were shiny and pleasantly arranged and Greg was asleep as promised. "Gregory?" Mycroft said gently, running a hand through his hair. "Wake up. I've finished." 

“Mm? Thank you.” Greg shifted and lay across Mycroft’s lap.

Mycroft blinked, but began to stroke Greg's hair. "You're incredibly warm to the touch." 

“Thanks,” he mumbled.

"Should I head home?" Mycroft asked. "I know you're tired." 

“You can stay here if you want,” said Greg, not wanting to move.

"Just to sleep? " Mycroft asked. "Should we head to the bedroom or such?" 

“Might be more comfortable,” he said, snuggling into his lap.

"You seem quite comfortable just here," Mycroft said, but stood, pulling Greg up. "Come along, my dear tired musician." 

Greg smiled and stole a kiss as they headed down the hallway. “I like the idea of falling asleep with you.”

Mycroft smiled nervously. "Yes. It sounds...lovely." 

“Nothing you aren’t comfortable with,” promised Greg, stripping down to pants and crawling into the blankets, reaching for him.

"I...should change in the other room," Mycroft said, straightening his shirt anxiously.

“If you’d rather.” Greg’s eyes were closed and he was already drifting back to sleep.

Mycroft sighed and left for the bathroom, snagging a pair of Greg's track pants on his way. 

Greg was already sound asleep, wings draped comfortably, by the time Mycroft got back.

Mycroft lay gently down beside him, shifting to rest under his wings and closing his eyes. 

**

Greg blinked awake in the early morning light. Mycroft was close by his side. He smiled and cuddled closer. 

Mycroft stirred, turning into Greg. "Mm?" 

"Good morning, beautiful."

"Hardly so in the morning." 

"Yes you are." He ran fingers through his hair.  

"You certainly look rather nice," Mycroft said, stroking a hand over Greg's shoulder blades. 

Greg leaned in to kiss him. "Thank you for staying."

“It was nice,” Mycroft admitted, meeting his eyes. “I don’t have to worry with you.” 

“I’m glad you trust me. Honestly. And I’m glad you came last night.”

“As I said, I enjoyed hearing you play. It is different for me to have a….friend.” 

“I’m also glad you think of me as such. I know I think of you that way.” He leaned forward and kissed him again, wrapping one wing around him.

Mycroft sighed, moving closer to him and pressing a kiss to his neck. 

Greg moaned softly and angled his head to give him room, one hand cupping Mycroft’s hip.

"What must you do today?" Mycroft asked, trailing a hand up Greg's arm. 

“Nothing. It’s my day off. You?” He shivered slightly under Mycroft’s touch.

"I have an essay to complete in the next two days. But it is mostly finished." 

“Well then, we can lie here in bed the rest of the day if you like.”

"An interesting concept. I'm not sure I ever have," Mycroft replied with a yawn.

Leaning in, Greg kissed down his jaw, feeling the slight bit of morning scruff under his lips. 

"That is distracting," Mycroft said. "It is good that I haven't anything but you to focus on." 

“I rather enjoy being under your focus,” murmured Greg, pulling him a little closer. “Tell me to stop if it’s too much or you aren’t comfortable.”

"I will," Mycroft murmured, shifting his hips slowly. 

Rolling them over, Greg tugged Mycroft on top of him, letting his wings fall open submissively as he smiled up at him.

"Oh..." Mycroft said, slightly surprised. "You enjoy both, do you?" 

“I do. I enjoy making my partner happy, either way.”

"I see," Mycroft said and leaned down close. "Kiss me?" 

Greg leaned up and did so, parting his mouth to him.

Mycroft let out a quiet moan as he slipped his tongue into Greg's mouth, nudging the small piercing Greg had. "Oh.." he murmured again. "That's....

“It would feel really good on your cock,” promised Greg.

"Oh," Mycroft said with a small shiver. "I..." 

“Whatever you’re comfortable with,” said Greg again, licking his lips, watching the heat growing in Mycroft’s eyes.

Mycroft shifted, bottoms tented obviously. "I'd like that," he admitted. 

“Then here, come sit on the edge of the bed so I can kneel in front of you.”

"But..." Mycroft shifted nervously. "I...may I shut the curtains?" 

“Whatever makes you comfortable.” Greg slipped out of bed and knelt on the rug, watching him.

Mycroft got up and shut the curtains, room going dim. He came back over, knees pressed tightly together as he sat, and looked to Greg.

Greg smiled up at him and kissed his covered knees. 

Mycroft reached forward, and ran a hand through Greg's hair before returning to the bed to clutch tight at the edge. 

“What can I do to help you relax?” asked Greg, bringing his wings up to cocoon them in near darkness.

"That works," Mycroft said, quietly, weaving his wings through Greg's as best he could. 

Gently, Greg parted his knees and shuffled forward, planting a kiss on his still clothed cock.

Mycroft swallowed, cock twitching at even that small bit of attention. 

“May I?” asked Greg, reaching for the band of his trousers, noticing they hung big on him.

"Yes, Gregory. They are yours after all," Mycroft said, trying for levity with a small, nervous smile. "I hope you don't mind."   
 “Not at all.” He gently pulled them down over Mycroft’s cock, barely visible in the darkness.

Mycroft lifted his hand, running it through Greg's hair again. 

Humming softly, Greg leaned in and slowly licked a stripe up his cock, letting the tongue ring dance against it.

Mycroft gasped, grip tightening. "Oh! Gregory...." 

Letting his tongue flick over the head of his cock a moment, Greg swallowed him down, delighting in the full body shiver he elicited.

Mycroft let out a low moan, head falling back. 

Greg held onto his hips, working him over with all his considerable skill, tasting the pre-come pooling at the tip and licking it away. He wanted to swallow when Mycroft came.

"Gregory..." Mycroft moaned. "I...I won't last. Please, don't tease." 

Lifting his head, Greg kissed the bare skin of his thigh. “I’m going to swallow when you come.” He went back to work, encouraging him towards orgasm, feeling him harden and his balls tighten.

"Ah! Puh...please," Mycroft stammered, gasping as he fought to quell his orgasm, body wound tight with need. 

Greg flicked his tongue ring one more time, sending him over as he swallowed.

Mycroft moaned again, releasing his hold and laying back. "Come...come here, Gregory. Kiss me." 

Greg licked his lips and moved up his body, kissing him hungrily as he plundered his mouth, rolling his hips.

"Can I?" Mycroft asked, pushing a hand between them, grasping at his cock. "Gregory, let me," he said, tipping his head back so Greg could get at his neck. 

“Yeah,” growled Greg, shimmying his pants off as he nibbled at Mycroft’s throat.

Mycroft gasped at the heat of him, head already wet and dripping as he took him in hand. "How? Like this?" 

“Like you’d touch yourself,” panted Greg, rutting against his hand.

"Yes, yes," Mycroft said breathlessly, and began to stroke, the angle awkward but effective. 

Greg groaned and panted against his shoulder, getting closer with every roll of his hips.

"I want to feel you," Mycroft moaned. "Please, come." 

Greg bit down on the flesh under his mouth as he came, moaning with the pleasure of it.

Mycroft gasped at the heat covering his palm, and the pain at his shoulder. "Gregory! God!" 

Greg let go with his teeth and licked the spot. “Sorry.”

"No, no. I liked it..." Mycroft said, chest heaving. 

“Good.” Greg shifted over to kiss him again.

Mycroft slid his messy hand against Greg's cock again, his clean one cupping Greg's face as they kissed deeply.

Greg moaned,  wings spreading out and mixing with Mycroft’s. “Do ya wanna take a shower with me?”

Mycroft stiffened, hand falling away. "I..." He wet his lips nervously. 

“Have I made fun of you about anything having to do with your wings or your body?”

"No," Mycroft replied, turning his gaze away. "You haven't." 

“If you’re not comfortable, that’s fine, love. I told you wouldn’t force you into anything.” He moved to steal a kiss.

"I haven't shown anyone that wasn't a medical professional since I turned eight," Mycroft replied. "No...Locker room, no swimming pools. I am unnerved at the idea, though I wish to. I want...everything with you." 

"How can I help."

"Just...wait for me in the bathroom?"

"Okay." Greg got up and went to run the water. 

Mycroft took a deep breath, watching him go. He took a few moments, clearing his mind. He attempted to calm his racing heart but when his body refused to obey him he gave up and stood, walking down the hall. He heard the shower running and he pushed open the door, finding Greg already under the water. "Gregory. This may sound foolish, but would you please...close your eyes when I get in?" he asked, nervously undressing. 

"Not foolish at all." Greg obeyed, knowing how fragile trust could be. 

Mycroft stepped in behind him, setting his hands gently on Greg's shoulders. "Thank you," he said quietly, sliding them down to ghost over his wings. "I'm sorry I am so much....effort," he said and let his hands rest on Greg's hips, brushing a kiss over his neck. 

"You are worth every bit of effort."

"Thank you," Mycroft said, letting his head rest on Greg's shoulder, water beating down.

Greg relaxed underneath him, then reached for the soap. "May I preen your wings when we're done?"

"That would be nice," Mycroft said, breath catching as Greg turned. "I know I'm not much to look at," he mumbled, closing his eyes. 

Greg looked him over. He was thin, some scars, probably self inflicted like his wings. "You're beautiful."

Mycroft wrapped an arm around himself, trying not to suck his stomach in. "As are you. Very colorful." 

"Just a few. If you'd like to do something with those scars I bet we could get you an amazing tattoo. Not that you need it." He leaned in to kiss one. 

"I'll consider it," Mycroft said quietly, closing his eyes at the gentle touch. 

Greg soaped his hands and got to work washing Mycroft. 

Mycroft opened his eyes only once Greg lifted was his hands away. "Am I clean?" 

"Yep. Go ahead and rinse off."

"Yes my dear," Mycroft said and stepped under the spray. "May I wash you?" 

"Certainly," Greg smiled, shifting to the back of the shower. 

Mycroft soaped his hands generously, and began to wash Greg, paying special attention to his tattoos. He pressed a kiss to each once they were washed clean, then reached for the shampoo to wash his hair. "Would you like know something?" he asked quietly, scrubbing Greg's hair thoroughly. "I used to wash my brother's hair. He had such terrible curls. Beautiful, but always tangled. I'd wash, then he'd go put on his nightclothes and return to my room. We'd sit on my bed, and I would tell him stories. Pirates. Always, Pirates, and always when I brushed out the tangles. Sometimes he would allow me to preen his wings as well, and it wasn't uncommon on those nights that he'd fall asleep on my bed." Mycroft sighed, and began to rinse Greg's hair out. "He is so angelic when he sleeps. Like a sculpture." He smiled fondly, pressing a kiss to the back of Greg's neck. "But after my first....stay in the hospital, he wouldn't let me brush his hair any longer. He wouldn't even let me tell him stories. Says he's deleted them." Mycroft sighed, blinking back tears and hoping that the water would mask his sadness. "I understand of course. He doesn't want me to hurt him. If he...allows himself to grow close, there is still the potential I may leave him again. He doesn't wish for that to happen. I wonder if it's better I've moved out." 

Greg turned and hugged him. "I doubt it's too late."

“Too late for what? To reconcile with my brother?” Mycroft asked, turning his head into Greg’s neck.” 

"Yeah."

“I don’t know,” Mycroft murmured.

“Maybe when he sees you’re doing better.” Greg kissed his forehead.

“I hope so,” Mycroft said. “Are you free from the bubbles?” 

“I think so. Breakfast?”

Mycroft didn’t reply, working kisses down Greg’s neck again. 

Greg moaned softly, letting him explore.

“Your skin is soft,” Mycroft murmured, hands roving over Greg’s arse. “I enjoy seeing so much of it.” 

“I’m glad you approve.”

Mycroft smiled at him, and then nuzzled into his neck again. 

“You’re distracting me, but it’s working.”

Mycroft paused. “Sorry,” he said and stepped away, looking guilty. 

“It’s fine.” Greg leaned in to kiss him again, letting his hand rest on his bare hip.

“Must we?” Mycroft asked, wrapping his arms around Greg again. “I’m not hungry.” 

“I suppose we can wait a bit,” hummed Greg.

“Thank you,” Mycroft whispered, resting his head on Greg’s shoulder again. “We can get out of the shower though.” 

“If you insist.” Greg reached over and shut it off.

Mycroft sighed and reached out for the towels they’d set on the sink. “For you,” he said, handing one over before getting his own. 

“Thank you.” Greg fluttered his wings a bit.

“You’re welcome,” Mycroft replied and let Greg lead him out into the bedroom once more. 

Greg sat Mycroft on the edge of the bed and got to work preening his feathers.

“Gregory?” Mycroft asked, a thought occurring to him. 

“Yes?”

“Could I ask a potentially awkward question?” 

“Anything at all.”

“How many people have you...experience with?” 

“All the way? Four. Fooling around? About ten.”

“An equal distribution of male and female?” Mycroft asked, staring resolutely forward and refusing to blush. 

“Slightly more to the female side, but I enjoy both.”

“Ah.” 

“Not what you expected?” Greg asked, peering over his shoulder.

“I am just aware of my own...inexperience at this moment,” Mycroft replied. “And it is embarrassing.” 

“No it’s not. Everyone has to start somewhere.”

“Yes, but generally one starts long before the age of twenty-two,” Mycroft replied. “I hadn’t even been kissed before you.” 

“You’ve had a lot of other things on your plate.” Greg turned in his arms and kissed him. “And I’m honored that you’ve chosen me.”

“That makes me feel a bit better,” Mycroft admitted. “I’m so unused to patience and kindness. It is foolish to let it affect me so much, that you care to show it so easily.” 

“Nothing about you is foolish. That I know,” said Greg, brushing some hair from Mycroft’s face.

“You are a gift, Gregory Lestrade,” Mycroft said, warmth filling his heart. “I...am very fond of you.” 

“I feel the same way about you. I’ve been watching you a long time, but I never thought I was worthy of your attention.”

“I cannot believe I was so unobservant as to think I would never catch yours.”

“Well, now we just have some more time to catch up.” Greg leaned in and kissed him again.

“What did you have in mind?” Mycroft asked, shifting closer and laying his head on Greg’s shoulder. 

“Whatever. I just like spending time with you.”

Mycroft took a deep breath. “Do you have any eggs in your fridge?” he asked, squeezing his hands into nervous fists.

“Yeah, pretty sure I do.”

“Would...would you care to make an omelet with me?” Mycroft asked quietly. “I’ve spoken to my doctors. They’ve said it’s time to increase my count again.” He turned his head, burying it into Greg’s chest, half on his lap. “Which means I have to eat more. I don’t wish to.” 

Greg rubbed his back. “I’d love to. May I ask about your issues? Where it started? What happened?” He cocooned him in his feathers.

Mycroft curled closer to him. “I…” He sighed. “Primary school if I’m being honest. I was too chubby and my wings were too big and I was too intelligent for my peers. And I’m sure you know children can be cruel. I began to monitor my eating. The older I became, the more it spiraled out of control. I was smart enough not to be caught. To make it look as if I was eating.” He closed his eyes, drawing his wings closer to himself. “And when that still didn’t stop the bullying, I began to hurt myself. I limited it. Each scar you can see is for an individual event, and I know each absolutely. The perks of an eidetic memory. Then….” Mycroft trailed off, clutching Greg a bit tighter. 

Greg kissed his cheek. “Then?”

“Secondary school. An exceptionally bad memory,” Mycroft replied. “I had grown somewhat into my wings, but they were still quite long, quite large. And...though children grow, they do not grow any less cruel if that is all they’ve known.” He bit his lip. “I’d had enough. The bullying, the abuse, the remarks. And I was walking down the hall and as a prank, someone set out what can only be described as a mouse trap with razor blades. I’m still not sure what it was. You have to understand, that despite the constant teasing and bullying over my wings, they were something I was proud of. Even though they were dull from lack of nutrition, even though they were hard to maintain, I was proud of them. They were a part of me. The blades sliced through a few of my flight feathers. I was in...shock. That someone would hurt my wings, not me, but my wings. I recall dropping my school bag, turning to see the halls full of laughter, pointing. And I...ran. As far as I could,” Mycroft admitted. 

He sighed and shook his head, closing his eyes. “My mother found me eventually. I had made it home, into the back garden. It was too late of course. I’d taken a pair of scissors to my wings. I had decided that if people would be cruel about them, then I didn’t even deserve to have them. There must be something wrong with them, with me to deserve this treatment. I was skinny, wasn’t I? I was smart, wasn’t I? Aren’t I?” Mycroft whispered brokenly. “Why were they so cruel?” 

Greg gathered him in his arms, holding him carefully. “I still say you’re beautiful. I’m sorry they hurt you, but I know my voice isn’t enough to drown out all the bad.”

“When my mother found me, I was in shock,” Mycroft continued, catching Greg’s hand with his own trembling fingers and kissing it. “It was raining, I was only fifteen, and undernourished. She brought me inside, stripped my clothes off, trying to get me into something dry before we went to the clinic for my wings. I can still remember...just the way she looked at me. As though she wished to cry, but couldn’t find the way to make herself do it. They checked me in that night.” 

“And your feathers still haven’t all grown back?”

Mycroft gave a bitter laugh. “No. I haven’t let them. Incidentally, the reason why I was returned to the hospital for the second time.” 

Greg hugged him. “I hope one day you allow them to come in again.”

“I’ve cut them three times,” Mycroft said. “The first time. The second time, after I’d been released, which put me back in. And the third time, just before I got out. My therapist knew I planned to, but she allowed me to go ahead. It...represents a promise to myself.” 

“That you won’t do it again? Or that things will get better?”

“I’ve made an agreement that by the time my wings grow out, I will be eating at least 2,200 calories per day. Their growth is a sign of how I am getting better myself,” Mycroft said quietly. “But it is...difficult. I’ve become afraid to eat. The numbers on the scale keep going up, the numbers I am eating keep going up, and all I can think is that I cannot go back to being the one who is always stared at, judged. ‘Fatcroft’’” Mycroft mocked bitterly. “I remember every taunt. I just don’t remember when they took up residence in my own mind.” 

Greg cupped Mycroft’s hips and kissed his belly. “You’re beautiful. And I’m never going to stop telling you that.”

Mycroft scooted back, looking down at him. He reached out a hand, letting it fall to his thigh as he just stared Greg down, gaze filled with unfathomable emotion. “Say it again,” he whispered, voice breaking. 

“You are beautiful, Mycroft Holmes.”

“Again,” Mycroft said, reaching out and tugging him up. “Gregory, please.” 

“Beautiful.” Greg had tears in his own eyes.

Mycroft leaned up and kissed him, pulling Greg down to lay atop him, ignoring the tears falling down his cheeks. “You’re good to me,” he whispered, holding Greg tight. “I am lucky.” 

“I feel just as blessed,” said Greg. “You’re amazing, and I’m so glad you gave me a chance.” He kissed him again.

“I...I want you to take me apart,” Mycroft said.

“If you’re sure,” said Greg, breath catching as he looked down at this glorious man beneath him.

“Please, Gregory,” Mycroft replied. “I want you to...fuck me,” he said, going red.


	5. Chapter 5

Greg shivered, eyes going dark with desire. “God, yes.” He kissed him again, then started kissing down his body, worshiping it, trying to show him just how much he was loved.

  
Mycroft moaned, toes curling even as tears beaded up again. "I cannot believe this is happening," he admitted shakily, grasping the sheets.

  
“You’re everything I’ve ever wanted,” breathed Greg against his skin.

  
"What is it you want?" Mycroft gasped.

  
"You." Greg moved down farther, parting his thighs, hot breath ghosting over his entrance.

  
"Gregory, what are you doing?" Mycroft stammered, feeling completely bared and helpless before him, only his trust in Greg keeping him from bolting. "Surely you don't mean to....That cannot be pleasant for you."

  
“I like it, and it’ll feel phenomenal to you.” His tongue darted out to tease.

  
Mycroft cried out in shock and pleasure at the touch, hips bucking up from the bed as Greg repeated the motion.

  
Greg held his hips as he dove in again and again, loving the mewls of pleasure that were starting fall from Mycroft’s lips.

  
Mycroft was shaking, cock hard and leaking as he forced the swell of his orgasm back. He tried to warn Greg, but all he could muster was a desperate, pleading moan.

  
Greg raised his head. “You can come, love, it’s okay,” he panted, diving back in and pushing his tongue inside, flicking the ring against him.

  
Mycroft's orgasm was torn from him with a ragged cry, cock spurting over his stomach as he moaned. His body went limp under Greg, legs falling farther apart. "Gregory..."

  
Greg pulled back and wiped his mouth. “Can I fuck you, Mycroft?”

  
"Yes. Yes, please."

  
Greg kissed his thigh. “Just wait right there.” He hurried into the bathroom to rinse out his mouth and grab the lube. When he went to step back out again he froze in the doorway, admiring the sight of Mycroft lying in his bed, legs fallen open, arse and thighs spit-slick and glistening, still damp hair sticking to his forehead and come pooling on his stomach.

  
Mycroft lifted up as he heard Greg pause, afraid he'd already become disillusioned with his body, would change his mind. But what he saw in Greg's eyes stole the air from his lungs. Desire. Worship. Want and disbelief. A shaky moan escaped him as warmth pooled in his belly and he reached forward, hesitantly stroking his cock as, to his surprise, it filled again.

  
Greg licked his lips and hurried forward. Fumbling, he got the bottle open and slicked his fingers, pressing one inside as he watched Mycroft. The damaged wings lay back on the bed, submissive, probably not even consciously. It made him want to mantle his own wings over him, to take and claim.

  
Mycroft pulled his hands away from his cock, fisting one in the sheets and the other covering his mouth to muffle his moans and cries of pleasure as his body clenched around the intrusion.

  
Reaching up, Greg tugged his hand free. “I want to hear you. Relax.”

  
"But," Mycroft managed. "Neighbors. We've already been loud." He dropped his head back with another moan as Greg wriggled his finger deeper.

  
“Most of them are at work right now.”

  
“Very well,” Mycroft said, chest heaving.

  
“I’m gonna add a second finger,” said Greg, pressing it into him.

  
Mycroft couldn’t help but squeeze down with another moan.

  
“God, Mycroft. I’m going to fill you up.” He leaned up to kiss him, then raised his head. “Do you want me to use a condom?”

  
Mycroft shook his head. “If you’re clean, I trust you. I want to feel you, feel us together,” he whispered, eyes closing with embarrassment.

  
Greg kissed him again, scissoring his fingers.

  
“You won’t hurt me,” Mycroft murmured, mostly to himself, not speaking about his body, but his heart. “I trust you.”

  
“And I hold that trust sacred,” promised Greg, moving between his thighs as he pressed in a third finger. “Relax.”

  
“I’m trying,” Mycroft replied, raising a hand to thread it through Greg’s hair.

  
Greg smiled at him and pulled his fingers free, slicking his cock. “It’s going to hurt a bit. But if it’s too much, let me know.”

  
“Go slow,” Mycroft said, gazing at him. He spread his legs farther apart, taking a deep breath.

  
Greg nodded and watched his face as he pressed against him. “Breathe for me.”

  
Mycroft nodded, looking up at Greg as he was breached, keeping his gaze. He raised his hands, smoothing them over Greg’s shoulders as he gave a small wince.

  
“Beautiful,” smiled Greg again as he pushed deeper.

  
Mycroft smiled up at him with a sharp intake of breath. “You feel larger than you look,” he admitted. “It’s very...very odd.”

  
“Good or bad?”

  
“G..good,” Mycroft said. “Just strange.”

  
Smiling, Greg shifted his hips, seeking his prostate.

  
Mycroft choked on his next breath, body arching up as Greg moved. “Gregory! I..Again!”

  
Greg did it again, watching his face, watching the way his wings flared beneath him.

  
“Amazing,” Mycroft panted, fighting to keep his eyes open. “I had...no idea.”

  
“You are so beautiful,” breathed Greg, leaning in to kiss him again, this time slipping his tongue in his mouth as he moved deeper and harder into him.

  
Mycroft moaned, kissing him desperately, unsure of what to do with his arms and legs, but deciding to wrap them around Greg.

  
Greg groaned, loving the feel of him wrapped around him, moving inside of him, trying to take it easy when all he wanted to do was slam into him.

  
“I want more,” Mycroft said, rocking in time with Greg. “I need more.”

  
"Okay." He pushed in and bottomed out, giving him time to adjust.

  
Mycroft gasped, grip on Greg tightening. "Full. Quite full. It...hurts. But it's good."

  
"You're so tight."

  
"You're all right with that?" Mycroft asked.

  
"God yes," he gasped, starting to move.

  
Mycroft moaned his name once more, threading his fingers through Greg's feathers. "You're...I'm close. More!"

  
Greg doubled his efforts, draping his wings over them.

  
Mycroft moaned into his shoulder, tears of desperation pricking his eyes.

  
"Come for me, My. I want to feel you."

  
Mycroft cried out, arching up into him, coming at the gentle command.

  
Groaning, Greg followed him over as he squeezed around him.

  
Mycroft slid his hands over Greg’s sweat slick chest, moving them up to cup Greg’s face, kissing him hard and fast. “If I let go, you’ll disappear,” he murmured. “Why does it feel like that?”

  
"Because we've never had anything like this." Greg dipped his head to lick the sweat from the hollow of his throat.

  
"You haven't?" Mycroft asked.

  
"I've never been in love like this."

  
"Love?" Mycroft questioned, heart racing once more. "You...love me?"

  
Greg raised his head and met his eyes. "Yeah. I do."

  
"Why?" Mycroft asked. "How do you know?"

  
"Because when I see you my heart beats faster. Nothing makes me happier then to see you smile."

  
"That doesn't make sense. But it must because I feel the same. Your smile makes my heart jump. Your laugh makes it stop," Mycroft said. "And when you kiss me...my worries fall to ash."

  
Greg grinned and kissed him tenderly, feeling himself slip from inside him.

  
Mycroft grimaced. "I don't think I'm fond of that sensation," he said, squeezing his cheeks together. "I feel so..empty."

  
"Sorry. I can fill you up again later if you want."

  
Mycroft blinked. "If I am not sore, certainly. If I am...would you care to..switch? I want everything with you. I fear you’ve awakened something, and it is hungry. "

  
Greg kissed his nose. "Happy to."

  
“And I am...hungry,” Mycroft said, voice full of confusion. “Strange. What have you done to me?”

  
Greg smiled. "Let's clean up again and fix that omelette."

 


	6. Chapter 6

Two Years Later

**

“Gregory?” Mycroft called, stepping into the kitchen and examining the scattered pots and pans. “Where have you gone? Sherlock will not stop phoning me, are you ignoring him once more?”

“Not intentionally,” called Greg from the pantry. 

"Please deal with him," Mycroft said, taking his jacket off and setting it on the chair. "What are you doing?" 

“We’ve been together for a while now,” said Greg, still in the pantry.

"Yes. Nearly two years," Mycroft replied. "And I do have to show you something tonight." 

“Oh? I have something for you too. Besides dinner.”

"Really?" Mycroft asked, but blocked himself from deducing what it was. 

“Yeah. No guessing.” Greg finally came out, kissing him.

"I'm not," Mycroft replied, wrinkling his nose as Greg transferred flour into his shirt. "You're getting me dirty." 

Greg chuckled. “Go tell your brother it’s our anniversary and we’re busy.”

"He'll take that quite the wrong way," Mycroft replied but pulled out his phone, sending a text message. "Are we busy?" Mycroft asked, running a hand over Greg's wing. 

Greg shivered. “Yes.” He turned in his arms.

"You have to finish supper, Gregory," Mycroft murmured. "When you do, I'll be waiting in the bedroom. As I said, I've something to show you." 

“Okay. Won’t be long now. Promise.”

"Very well." Mycroft kissed the back of his neck, and stepped away and into their bedroom. He undressed, dimming the lights and remained atop the blankets, though it still made him anxious. He relaxed, reaching into the bedside drawer for lube and began to work himself open as he waited. 

Greg quickly finished what he was doing, eager to see what Mycroft had in mind.

"Gregory?" Mycroft called as he heard the steps in the hall. "You could hurry you know." 

“I’m coming, love.” Greg stopped in the doorway, watching Mycroft and smiling.

Mycroft looked over at him, Greg’s stare still enough to make him blush. “I stopped on the way home today,” he said, wings set in a submissive pose. “I decided to get...inked.” He moved the strategically placed pillow away from his thighs, showing off his new tattoos. “Do you recall your suggestion years ago?” 

Greg nodded. “And they’re gorgeous.” He moved to kneel before him, examining them.

“I thought the ladders were fitting. It showed growth and the steps I’ve taken to get here. And of course, your words are a large part. I couldn’t restrain myself.” Mycroft said, pointing out the tattoos. “I hope you don’t mind...I designed it myself, though the words are in your handwriting.” 

“I’m honored, truly. I love you.”

“Happy almost anniversary, Gregory,” Mycroft said, pulling him up and cocooning them in his wings. “Thank you for loving me.” 

“Thank you for giving me a chance to love you.”

“How could I not?” Mycroft asked, and pulled him in for a kiss. 

Greg hummed against his lips, mixing their feathers together. He was so glad Mycroft’s wings had finally grown out again.

“You did say you had something for me,” Mycroft said. “Can it wait?” he asked, rolling his hips suggestively.

“If you just had those tattoos done and you want me to top it had better be from behind. And yes it can wait.”

“Then fuck me,” Mycroft growled and sat up, moving onto his hands and knees. 

“Yes, sir,” breathed Greg, seeing that he’d prepared himself and moving up to mount him.

Mycroft groaned as Greg’s wings draped over his own, the man pushing into him. “God, yes. It has been a while, hasn’t it?” 

“We’re both busy. But I’m going to make this good for you.”

Mycroft pushed back, forcing Greg to bottom out. “As you ought.” 

Greg groaned and took him hard, knowing it was what Mycroft wanted.

Mycroft took him, panting and crying out with pleasure as Greg moved inside him. 

“Not gonna last long, love.” Greg nipped at the back of his throat, reaching around to stroke him.

“Quite acceptable,” Mycroft gasped, fucking forward into Greg’s hand. 

“Beautiful,” said Greg, giving a few more thrusts and filling him with a moan.

Mycroft came at the sensation of being filled, relaxing onto the bed. “Goodness. We’re teenagers again.” 

Greg chuckled. "We're not that far from it."

"I am twenty four. Practically ancient," Mycroft replied. "And shacking up with an older man." He made a sound of mock distress. 

“Heaven forfend,” grinned Greg, moving him so he could reach his lips.

Mycroft smiled fondly at him, and trailed a line of kisses over his jaw. "My darling Gregory." 

Greg hummed. “You’ll have to come downstairs for yours.”

"Mm, must I?" Mycroft asked but moved away, sitting on the edge of the bed. "Do I need to be dressed?" 

“I suppose not.” Greg took his hand to lead him.

"I hope you know how it pains me not to deduce whatever it is you're up to," Mycroft said. 

“I know, but I appreciate it. Here, have a seat.”

Mycroft sighed, but sat, wings fluttering out. "Do I need to close my eyes?" 

“It’s optional.”

"I trust you," Mycroft said and shut them, tapping his fingers on his thigh as he waited. 

Greg padded to his hiding space, came back and got down on one knee in front of him, holding the box. “Open your eyes.”

Mycroft opened his eyes, completely  speechless. "Gregory..,," he managed to breathe out after a few moments.

"Will you marry me, Mycroft Holmes?"

Mycroft nodded, swallowing hard. "Why must you always do this?" He asked. "You always say the right thing, ask the proper questions. Yes. I will marry you." 

Greg slipped the ring on his finger and moved up to kiss him. “Because I love you, and my heart beats with your heart.”

"Because you're a foolish romantic?" Mycroft asked, but kissed him, folding his now full wings around them both. "I love you, Gregory Lestrade." 

“And I love you.”

**Author's Note:**

> Thank you for reading! You can find us on AO3 at [Janto321 ](http://archiveofourown.org/users/FaceofMer/)and [HumsHappily](http://archiveofourown.org/users/humshappily) or on tumblr at [merindab ](http://merindab.tumblr.com)(janto321) and [HumsHappily](http://hums-happily.tumblr.com)


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